Invites
December 12, 2008
Chetumal, Quintana Roo

Invitations to private gatherings or a local's home are the traveler’s ultimate dream. An opportunity for unscripted glimpses into the lives of those who we normally only greet in passing give deeper meaning to the journey. And although motorcycles are the ultimate form of transportation for spirited wanderers, in their unique appearance of muddied, bulky luggage, also become efficient instruments for connecting direct to curious restaurant patrons or small crowds of gathering gawkers on downtown street corners. Whether they stop to inquire or not, everyone seeing this unusual site wants to know more—especially Mexicans.



So it was yesterday morning when after serving a requisite breakfast of refried beans and four fried eggs, café owner Miguel had to know more. Gift-giving works miracles in Developing Nations and for these occasions I’m always ready with an EARTH RIDE DVD--three-hundred-twenty slides of a global motorcycle ride accompanied by moving African music. While immediately inserting the disk into the restaurant TV and studying flashing photos of Middle Eastern Bedouins, the coveted invitations arrives. “Please be my guest tonight at our family lakeside retreat near the Guatemalan border.

The only marking for the mile-long jungle road leading to the freshwater lagoon.


















From raising their own animals for consumption to the solar electric panels to provide light, this informal eco-retreat is self-sufficient.



Caretaker Gabriel is anxious to display methods of animal husbandry for their flocks of chickens, ducks and turkeys.







And after a long day, Gabriel's wife makes of dinner of fresh fried tortillas and turkey meatballs.





But after a long day of chores, Gabriel's son Benjamin is one hungry hombre.



And the next morning I ask him if he's ready to trade hats and ride north with El Vikingo.



He thanks me but opts to stay where he's needed on the homestead.



But in the finest of Mexican tradition, he bids me Buen Viaje and a speedy return.

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

Centro Mercados
December 17, 2008
Villahermosa, Mexico
(Disclaimer: For this trip I mistakenly decided to use the old Sony 818 that while banged around the world for several years has been dropped, drowned and subjected to so many temperature extremes that it barely functions)









If the heart and soul of a Developing Nation can be found in a pulsating city center, then the societal spirits can be discovered through the colorful kaleidoscope of their thriving central markets. From Middle Eastern Souks to Latin American Centro Mercados, on early Sunday mornings, this is where the collective vibrancy of a culture can be sensed as well as seen.



Wandering among shoulder-to-shoulder congested, makeshift temporary aisles, scents from countless rows of vine ripened fruits and vegetables compete with contrasting odors from bins of still flopping fish and dangling, recently clucking chickens. Neatly arranged piles of dried chilies and sinus-piercing pungent spices catch me off-guard mid-inhale while vendors bark orders to sample homemade candies.









Frugal housewives with restless children in tow barter for groceries which will later combine into delightful bursts of sizzling salsas. Yet while wallowing through this familiar rhythm of chaos, an invading alien is clearly ignored.

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

In a southern Mexican city seldom frequented by foreigners, a heavily tattooed, six-foot-three, two hundred twenty pound biker stands out as awkward as a puffy-eyed, stumbling Rastafarian, and is initially as welcome.



When wading through crowds of hesitant locals, sometimes I do notice narrowed-eyed facial expressions conveying obvious suspicions “Aren’t you from that place where they are building a wall to keep people like us out?”



But consistent with a prior pledge to never leave a reluctant crowd until everyone is willing to shake my hand, I once again bellow a proven slogan, “I’ve come along way to meet you…”

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

Southerners
December 19, 2008
Oaxaca, Oaxaca (Wah hah kah)

Still traveling according to plan-of-no-plan, a short circuit in my left wrist, nerve wiring has trimmed riding time to two hundred miles per day, or until my hand finally cramps open, whichever comes first. This means a detour from Tabasco halfway across the southern most state of Chiapas, to hang a right at the state capital, Tuxla-Guiierrez and zigzag the Sierra Madre ridgeline north to Oaxaca, Taxco, Puebla, Mexico City and maybe Guadalajara before returning to Mazatlán. But holiday traffic beginning to coagulate along the single-lane coastal route can’t compete with empty mountains roads of banked curves—the kind high-performance motorcycles devour. Other than a few lounging burros and occasional lumbering big-rig, the black and grey asphalt patchwork of Federal Highway 190 is deserted, interrupted only by rumblings from 1200cc motor winding through the gears. On a blissful soar into biker-nirvana, it’s hard to imagine an end until rolling into the imposing grandeur of 15th century Mexico—just in time for another parade.





















Although Mexico’s breath-taking colonial cities are North America’s best-kept travel secrets and easily accessed by a sophisticated network of modern toll freeways, it’s these poorly maintained free roads with far too many speed bumps that offer closer connections to the delicious pace of local life. Rich green farmlands and remote mountain towns in-between hidden blue lakes and thick pine forests make Chiapas and Oaxaca the most stunning natural scenery of Mexico. But their abundance of foaming whitewater rivers harnessed to supply fifty percent of the countries electrical needs are also symbols of exploitation. From Siberia to Africa, as people of lesser means around the world similarly languish in the sinister grip of corruption, familiar venomous fangs paralyze these Southerners on the edge of survival.



Like in Russia, where a more populated half of the country rapes the other of energy and natural resources without sharing the wealth, so it goes with Chiapas and its impoverished indigenous people still hopelessly struggling for their share. A mid-nineties uprising of the Zapatista movement was brutally repelled by right-wing paramilitaries and then temporary cooled when then President Fox granted a few of their demands. As in some Islamic countries, fundamentalists prefer their own legal system and today in Indian regions of Chiapas, tribal law has replaced the Federal system. Although legal disputes can now be resolved with methods more reasonable to them, there is still an obscene lack of education and general suffering of the people. It’s from here in Southern Mexico that the long, arduous journey to El Norte begins with desperate hopes for an opportunity to scrub floors and clean toilets of American households. In other parts of Mexico, people ask, “De donde viene?” From where do you come? Here they simply assume, “De la otro lado?” From the other side? Still if willing to sit and speak direct to them and listen to their voice, they all have interesting stories.

These are two of twenty students from Mexico City who during their university breaks, travel six hours by bus, to peddle trinkets in the El Zocalo to finance their education.



Imagine how long it took to convince her to pose so people around the world, on this thing called the Internet, could appreciate her beauty.



And as the weak become weaker, with each of six journeys into Mexico over the last ten years, I’ve noticed a pronounced hardening of the people’s once-lively spirits and cooling attitudes toward foreigners. Seeking a scapegoat, embezzling politicians and corporate monsters responsible for their misery, redirect the anger north, pointing a manipulating finger at a familiar favorite target with the rest not seeming to care. A rising middle-class in more affluent regions of Mexico is leaving behind their most vulnerable citizens with hardly anyone realizing that the southern half of the country seethes in silent revolution.

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

Still, 15th century Oaxaca with its dramatic, early Spanish architecture was as spectacular as ever, only for a change, the city center had more Mexican tourists than foreigners.





















Preferring cushy beachside resorts padded with upscale US retail franchises, few Americans venture into the aging glory of real Mexico. Once outside of artificial luxury bubbles like Cancún and Cabo San Lucas, the only other foreigners are European. In this peak of tourist season with hotels at half occupancy, all were offering promotional rates making this the most likely stop for a three-day program of catching up at the gym. Whereas health clubs in the US compete with high tech mechanical weight lifting apparatus, normally in Mexico, I’m lucky to find sets of rusty old dumb bells to bounce around in the sweltering heat. So imagine the shock when in the shadows of the conquistadors, discovering state of the art facilities.

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

Silver
December 19, 2008
Taxco, Guerrero
Mexico

It should have been an easy half-day cruise from old-world Oaxaca to the ancient silver mining city of Taxco, but without a direct route, and figuring there was sufficient time, I lounged until noon before twisting the throttle out of the last intersection heading north for the border of Guerrero. And although Mexico’s free-roads are more scenic, they are also unpredictable for quality and traffic congestion in busy pueblos along the way. Between a single-lane highway partially under construction with unmarked detours and several crowded towns with no signs indicating exits, a four-hour ride turned into eight.

As late afternoon dimmed into early dusk, freshly hydrated agricultural fields pumped out swarms of flying insects—all determined to investigate my probing headlight. While riding deeper into chilling planetary shadows, temperatures dropped faster than the fading rays of sunlight as I foolishly resist the need to stop and bundle up. Now shivering on a moonless night, through the translucent glaze of yellow bug guts, I peer out through a tinted face-shield straining to spot wandering livestock made invisible by high-beams of oncoming big-rigs streaking their blinding high-beams into splinters of piercing multicolor light. Between dodging ghostly silhouettes of shaggy-haired goats mixed with wandering cows, packs of wild burros remained motionless in the center of the roadway, seemingly unconcerned of an impending fate. Through their stubborn mindless gaze, they remind me of who would fare worse in a collision. Locked into an edgy hyper-awareness, I ease off on the throttle while my attention flickers back to focusing on gaping potholes disrupting the rugged texture of sharp mountain switchbacks. All this in order to reach Taxco in time for the Saturday morning jewelry market?

Originally founded by the Aztecs, centuries later in 1530, Mr. Cortez confirmed tales of subterranean precious metal of a particular shiny gray and immediately summoned fellow Spaniards to declare dominion on behalf of the Crown. Ever since, Taxco with its subsequent generations of famous artisans, has been considered the silver capital of the world. Along radically inclining mountain cobblestone streets, trendy tourist restaurants and quaint stone hotels blend among repeating glittery jewelry shops, all behind hand-chiseled granite facades of 15th century architecture. But arriving exhausted at 8:00PM left little time to savor mysterious alleyways separating whitewashed colonial buildings beneath their uniform red tile roofs. After a long hot shower I stumbled directly into zee-land with dreams of photographing an awakening city and acquiring riches at dawn.

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

Saturday mornings in Taxco, when local silversmiths offer their handmade goods direct to wholesale buyers as well as the public, are an eager bargain-hunters ultimate dream. Hundreds of temporary steel-pole booths line the crowded steps descending deep into makeshift labyrinths of countless aisles revealing even more brightly lit booths manned by anxious vendors. (And all of them assure that they have a special deal just for me.) Nowhere else in the world lies better opportunities to shop unique gifts for lucky friends at home. From elegant dinnerware to intricately carved bracelets, necklaces and delicate earrings, prices range from pennies to hundreds of dollars. With negligible labor cost, most items are sold by weight, at a fraction of US retail prices.

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

One of the most excellent threads about Mexico I have ever seen! I have done several trips to Mexico and the first thing to get out of the touristy places. Yes, if you are polite and respectful, you will be welcomed almost everywhere! Most my trips to Mexico I have used the buses and collectevos. Sincerely, why own a car with such a wonderful public transportation system.

Still my 30 year old Honda CX500 - still a fine running machine - would require a full tear down and checkout before doing a trip to Chiapas.

Salud

__________________
Most of All... Have Fun!

Bruce... kb0pgo

Christmas in Mexico
December 25, 2008
Mazatlán, Sinaloa

Two wheels are better than four, or so my first martial arts teacher preached in the winter of 1982 when I was recovering from knee surgery after one too many spin kicks on a hundred-pound heavy-bag. Out-patient arthroscopic procedures then were in preliminary development, so my first operation was done the old fashion way, with an eight inch cut, prying the joint apart and scraping away damaged cartilage. After four days in the hospital, Sifu Cazarez explained that knee injuries were the most common athletic career-cancellers and to make sure I stayed focused on rehab, we’d need a significant goal. “Glen, you are going to ride a bicycle from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas. But don’t worry, for the thousand mile journey, I’ll be periodically catching up in a motor-home.”

After ten grimacing days of pedaling among blossoming desert cactus and nasty crosswinds, I rolled into the hard-packed dirt streets of Cabo San Lucas in time for a much thought about evening of cerveza-guzzling. Then, except for a few tilting palapas, the beaches were empty and there was only one bar, The Giggling Marlin. But what impressed me most was the lack of Christmas marketing hype. Absent bogus parades, droning radio Holiday jingles and obnoxious television ads demanding to buy buy buy, the silence was heavenly.

The roar of tranquility seized my spirit as locals celebrated the birth of Jesus with a sole candle in kitchen windows of their small adobe houses. After an afternoon of prayer, large family gatherings turned into feasts of commemoration and love of one another. As once learned from the soft humility of gentle Himalayan Sherpa guides, again, I was struck by the notion that connecting with other humans was paramount, and that maybe the adage is true, “Less is more.”

Ever since, to avoid what most other Americans complain about, I’ve made it a point to be outside of the US for the ritual holiday fiasco. And although commercialism is creeping into Mexican culture via subtitled Hollywood media, without the public hoopla, it’s easier to ignore. Still, a few Zocalo plazas have been alight in long strings of subtle flashing LEDs, and much to the wonderment of wide-eyed Mexican children, even a few Santa Claus outfits. But three days catching up on workouts in Oaxaca was sufficient, as an itch to ride needed scratching, and maybe a change in cuisine.

If the some of the tastiest food in the world is found in traditional Mexican kitchens, the best of that lies just east of Mexico City in Puebla—home of the internationally acclaimed regional dish, Mole Poblano, a quarter chicken smothered in lightly spiced, unsweetened chocolate sauce. Ever since rolling out of Mazatlan a month ago, I’d secretly hoped that an eventual twist of fate on the plan-of-no-plan would lead to dining amidst the drama of its 15th century colonial cathedrals. And I knew just the restaurant to recharge my batteries before heading home.

Normally when out on an extended ride, the first few days become an impulsive bonsai blast to get as far away from home as possible in the shortest time. (Hurry up in order to relax.) Yet even though I resist the urge, the reverse becomes true for final few days. No matter the silent pledge, it’s always the same, start on the Autopista and end on the Autopista. And while relaxing in arguably the most imposing Zocalo in Latin America, I stared at the map, computing remaining options with intentions to overnight in the next three major cities for visiting friends. In the next nine hundred miles I could easily divide the last few days, enjoying pine-forested, high Sierra, free-roads and spin into Mazatlán the day after Christmas.

Maybe because the sprint from Puebla to Mexico City was so short, an urge to continue became an ache. Once bundled up in cold weather gear, slicing through crisp mountain air and before realizing it, I was westbound on the Autopista passing the second targeted overnight, my most favorite Mexican city, Morelia. Screw it, the town is likely crowded with tourists anyway…in few more hours, I can be in Guadalajara. Yet once there, re-energized in a roadside café feasting on a plate of steaming barbacoa, the next option came to mind, riding to just beyond sunset would allow on overnight in Tepic, a leisurely three hour cruise home in the morning. But while refueling in downtown Tepic, while mulling the options, the notion of entering a forbidden night-ride also meant sleeping in my own bed.

Most of the Mexican Autopistas are double lane, but it’s only a single, north from Tepic, with the best advantage being that it’s fenced-off from cattle. But this danger is canceled by the blinding bright lights of oncoming traffic a car-length away. Within moments of departing a semi-lit city, I questioned the logic of not stopping at the last hotel. Further to seize my breath, suddenly, a few feet back from my saddlebags a set of high-beams flash bright enough to illuminate the road ahead and to both sides. Knowing who loses this one, I ease to the right allowing two shiny black SUVs with tinted windows to whoosh past close enough to almost graze a hand-guard. In Mexico, there’s no question about who drives vehicles like these, Los Narcos, either powerful drug traffickers or their deadly henchman.

Still, with their blazing, quad-halogens peering far deeper into the pitch-dark countryside than my feeble single, if following in their wake, while alert for swerves or brake lights, they could run sufficient interference to unwittingly guide me in a WFO blast to at least the next gas stop, a hundred twenty miles away. Then again, if following too closely, maybe a half-drunk desperado becomes annoyed enough to poke his 9mm Uzi out the rear window and just for fun, pepper this lame Gringo into ga-ga-land. Weighing the latter against creeping through inky darkness for another three hours, I opt for shadowing the convoy at a polite distance.

And after two hours of a pulse-quickening pace, my engine sputtered, burning fumes, coasting into the only Pemex station for another fifty miles. Relieved at being so close to home, I could imagine smelling the fresh salt air and tasting sizzling quesadillas de pollo. Since other than to spin the odometer toward a particular turn-around point in Yucatán, and hopefully hone my Spanish along the way, from day one, this has been an un-defined mission. But as always, I did get to experience more than I deserved with no proper evaluation of the last five thousand miles, except to state that I am far happier now than a month ago. After all, aren’t we supposed to live life on our own terms? I don’t always know where I am heading, but I always end up exactly where I want to be.

Happy New Year Amigos!

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

Great pictures Glen. shame i have not run into you. I stay in Mexico every winter for 4 -5 months. Last year went to the Mazatlan bike week, that was different but again some excellent pictures. I stay in Celestino and ride my bike all over from there. I also referee soccer (football) so get to ride into the mountain villages to do games. Its a great place and wonderful people i have made many friends over the years but alas could not go this year, due to upcoming surgery on my knee. Last year rode to Colima and Barra and stayed in some awesome beach sites in between. We hear the murders in Culiacan are right out of control though. Will try and get in touch with you before we leave in October, kindest regards, John

__________________
More torque less speed is what you need!

Hey amigo, I live in Mazatlan and always have a spare room for long-riders passing through. And we are well prepared for visitors.

__________________
EARTH RIDE!
Understanding the world through adventure travel.
www.strikingviking.net

Thats got to be a first for Turkey porn on the Hubb!
Oh! and I,m glad you found some nice looking chicas in Oaxaca,cos I didn,t!
I,ll just have to stick to Medellin.
Al theturtleshead